


Rigidity vs Resilience

by Onlymostydead



Category: DCU, dcu comics
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Trans Male Character, Trans Tim Drake, athsmatic Tim, just mentioned death really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 11:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16039922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlymostydead/pseuds/Onlymostydead
Summary: Rigidity: defined as the tendency to resist flexing or deforming. The League, and Dick sometimes, always described Bruce as being rigid. They were right, of course.But there was resilience: the amount of deformation required to bring a material to its elastic limit. Deformed was an interesting word to use, but it felt true. All of those things, everything that he had nightmares about to this day had deformed his mind in little ways.He hoped that he had that resilience, still bouncing back to an original shape.





	Rigidity vs Resilience

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of... I don't know what this is. Take it how you will.

Tim had been staring at this page of homework for what felt like hours. He had already finished it, and it hadn't been hard at all, but still he stared.  
Something about the definitions in his physics book made him want to laugh, just with the way that they reminded him of things, of people. Rigidity, for example: defined as the tendency to resist flexing or deforming. The League, and Dick sometimes, always described Bruce as being rigid.

They were right, and that's what made Tim laugh. Not physically, of course, but that was true too. No, Bruce never seemed to change no matter what happened. He was still the same kind of presence, the same force as when Tim showed up as a scrawny kid convinced that Batman needed a Robin.

Tim's mouth twitched upwards in a sad smile, running his thumb over a long scar on his forearm. Someone with a knife had given it to him, and he didn't consider it out of the ordinary. If someone had told that to him four years ago he'd think they were lying.

The thing was, Bruce hadn't always been rigid. Tim knew that from talking with Alfred late nights, about what he was like as a little kid. Things had made him rigid.  
Those same types of things didn't have the same effect on Tim, and he knew it. He wasn't hardened by his mom's death, by his friends at school, by Steph's, by his father's; it just left him feeling broken.

But he wasn't broken yet.

That was the part that made Tim laugh, looking at the definition of resilience there on the page: the amount of deformation required to bring a material to its elastic limit. Deformed was an interesting word to use, but it felt true. All of those things, everything that he had nightmares about to this day had deformed his mind in little ways.

He hoped that he had that resilience, still bouncing back to an original shape. He still felt the same, sometimes; like a scared, scrawny trans boy with asthma and everything to lose by becoming Robin.

Everything he had already lost.

The definitions had stopped being funny a long time ago but they still made him want to laugh, how he was making himself sad over his damn physics homework.

He just hoped that he hadn't reached that elastic limit, because it felt like one more tragedy would deform him past the point of return. After losing Connor and Bart, he didn't think he could take any more. It felt like everyone he loved was cursed like they all died, like they all-

Tim could feel himself starting to hyperventilate, and struggled to tug off his shirt. His binder was tight, too tight and he knew that he should have taken it off hours ago but the only thing running through his mind were more stupid definitions, how the stress of his binder on his chest was too much. Stress: the deforming tensile force per unit cross-sectional area, the pressure pushing in on his lungs and now he couldn't breathe-  
Tim finally struggled out of his binder, breaths still coming too fast. His lungs still felt tight, like they weren't accepting air, and where was his inhaler?

There it was, on his bed, right on the edge. Snatching his inhaler up, Tim quickly put it in his mouth and pressed the canister. The relief wasn't immediate, it never was, but the knowledge that it would help immediately made him feel calmer. It did nothing for the pounding of his heart, of his head, of his thoughts telling him that soon he'd be so broken he wouldn't be able to do anything- but at least his lungs could calm down.  
As soon as he had taken the four puffs of the inhaler, Tim curled himself into a ball. It didn't feel safe because it wasn't safe, but it was better that sitting up. Ivy could still crawl her vines into his clothes, Ra's could still touch him could still pin him down, but there was no stopping that. He couldn't stop anything.

He could never do anything. He was never fast enough, never strong enough, he was never there when people needed him. He should have been able to save his mom from the torture. He should have been able to save Bart, to save Connor. He should have been there when Black Mask killed Stephanie, and he should have been at the house when that man came knocking at the door. He should have been the one dead in the entrance to his own home, not his father.

The only thing that stopped Tim from continuing was the lack of oxygen. Finally, after hyperventilating for so long, he passed out.

***

When Tim woke up he was still on the floor, but with a blanket over him. He was still shirtless, his inhaler clenched in one hand and his discarded binder in the other. Glancing up at the clock, Tim winced at the time. Five am on the school day was never good. Groaning, he pulled himself up to his feet. After a quick smell-check, he pulled on the same binder and shirt he had been wearing yesterday. He was just wearing boxers, so Tim tugged on a pair of jeans that were lying on the floor. After a second of thought, he switched out the socks he was wearing for a fresh pair.

Looking in the mirror, he just wanted to punch his own face. Apparently his mind wasn't don't with the whole physics thing from last night, because the first thought he had as soon as he saw his own face was what little rigidity he must have. His eyes looked droopy and tired, with under eye bags dark and puffy. A fading cut ran from his right temples down to his ear; it would scar for sure. His hair was a mess; tangled locks of it hung in his eyes and stuck up in odd places. Shrugging and running a hand through it, he turned around and gathered up his things for school. He couldn't help it if he was only three steps from falling apart; he just had to not fall apart. 

Sounded easy in theory, but was far more difficult in practice.

"Don't bother, Master Timothy. You're sick today." Alfred informed him as soon as he left his room. "Get some more rest."

Tim froze at that, rubbing his eyes again. "Are you-"

"Positively sure, Master Timothy." He gave a warm smile. "Wouldn't want your classmates catching a could, would we?"

Letting his shoulders relax, and letting out a sigh of relief, Tim leaned against his doorframe. Sick day. Great- for some things. He'd be able to get some work done, whether it was the Johnson Case he'd been following or his AP Lit. he'd been neglecting.

"And do get some real rest." Alfred clasped his hands in front of him. "Lord only knows how late you came home last night, and how much later you stayed up."

Tim nodded. "Yes, Alfred."

"I do mean it." He raised a finger, staring straight into Tim's eyes. "Now it's back off to bed with you, unless you need something to eat."

Contemplating the state of his stomach, Tim shook his head. A nap first would be better, in all likelihood. He turned around, back into his room.

"Alfred?" Tim called over his shoulder.

"Yes, Master Timothy?"

"Thank you." 

Alfred gave him a warm smile. "Just making sure you're still alive tomorrow. Now, get some rest."

Tim nodded, shutting the door behind him. With a groan probably a little louder than he intended, he stripped out of his jeans and binder, pulling his tee shirt back on. Finally, he flopped onto his bed, yanking the blankets up to cover him.

"Resilience..." Tim thought out loud with a yawn. "Guess it only work when you've got the time to bounce back."

He had barely finished his sentence then he was asleep, curled up tight enough to be safe. Physics could wait, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at supertinywords for writing, Supertinybats for DC content, and supertinydom of you just think I'm a cool person.
> 
> Comments are love! Or, comment if you hate physics. Or if you love physics, I guess.


End file.
